


Cherry Candy and Printed Pages

by Katalic



Category: Minecraft - Fandom, dreamteam - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angst, DNF, DreamTeam, Fluff, Gream - Freeform, High School, Hurt, Injury, Library, M/M, Minecraft, Sports, dream - Freeform, dreamnotfound, georgenotfound - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalic/pseuds/Katalic
Summary: His eyes pour into mine, a sweet dark brown colliding with electrifying green. I'm overcome-overwhelmed-by an unshakable desire to reach out and touch him. Even though we're meters apart, me on the court and him in the bleachers, it feels as though he's right in front of me. I'm lost in the sensation he brings. Any cold feeling I had previously felt is replaced by an unwavering, heart filled warmth that tears through me. I watch, completely mystified, as he tilts his head at me. Does he feel it, too? This feeling of complete peace and love?------After suffering a severe concussion and breaking his arm on the court, Clay is forced to take time off of basketball and school work. Without much to do, he takes refuge in the school's quaint library. While there he meets a timid British boy who shows him the majesty of the mind.------This is a Dreamnotfound fan fiction. If any of the content creators have a problem with this story or fan fiction in general, I will take this down, but I write it with the knowledge that they are okay with it.
Relationships: dream and georgenotfound
Comments: 25
Kudos: 32





	1. Chance Encounters

Shoes are squeaking.

Pulse is rushing.

Crowds are shouting.

Mind is racing.

Coaches are screaming.

Clock is ticking.

I'm running, sprinting with all my might. I have the ball, and I'm close enough to shoot. I glance up for just a moment to get a clear view of the basket, but instead of focusing on the hoop, my eye wanders to a boy slightly behind it. He's sitting while everyone is standing, watching timidly. He looks uncomfortable, squished in between two larger men. A small, worn book sits in his lap. I need to refocus on the target at hand, but our eyes meet, and the world freezes. 

His eyes pour into mine, a sweet dark brown colliding with electrifying green. I'm overcome—overwhelmed—by an unshakable desire to reach out and touch him. Even though we're meters apart, me on the court and him in the bleachers, it feels as though he's right in front of me. I'm lost in the sensation he brings. Any cold feeling I had previously felt is replaced by an unwavering, heart filled warmth that tears through me. I watch, completely mystified, as he tilts his head at me. Does he feel it, too? This feeling of complete peace and love?

I want to ask, want to reach out and ask, but as soon as my mouth begins to open, I'm slammed into a nearby wall, and my vision begins to fade in and out. I hear muffled voices shouting, see figures gathering around me, but it's all masked by an incessant ringing that won't go away. There's a slight throbbing in my head, but I barely notice. I'm trying to sit up, looking for the boy. My entire being aches to feel the connection we shared when our eyes met. I want to call out his name, but I don't know what it is. I scan the bleachers, looking past my teammates kneeling in front of me trying to help. I see him. I watch him stand, hands over his mouth. His book falls out of his lap and onto the floor, but he doesn't notice. I want to meet his eyes and feel safe again, but everything begins to feel fuzzy. 

Someone is yelling my name, but I can't quite tell who it is. Someone is grabbing my arms, trying to help me up, but I can't quite tell who it is. Someone is waving their hand in my face, but I can't quite tell who it is.

Everything goes black.

——————

"Clay? Clay, are you alright?" I hear my sister's voice faintly ringing through my head.

I shift around, unaware of where I am, and pain immediately shoots through my body. I groan, opening my eyes slightly somewhat. The light above me is blinding at first. I try to cover my eyes, but I find that the pain in my entire body does not rival the pain that permeates throughout my right arm—my dominant arm. Someone places their hand on my arm, forcing it down so that I don't exert it. After a minute, my eyes finally adjust to the bright lights. I look around, still squinting slightly. 

"Where—where am I?" I ask groggily, my words slurring together as I speak. I see Darla to my right. "What's going on, Sis?"

She sighs. "We're in the hospital, you idiot. Last night you got tackled into a wall by a jerk on the other team."

Everything starts to come back to me. The ringing, the blurriness, the muffled voices. The boy in the bleachers.

I gaze at my surroundings. I'm on a white hospital bed in a thin light blue gown. My sister is seated in a white chair next to me. There's a small cart to my left with a case of flowers and a get well soon card on it as well as a glass of water and a clear container of large pills. The walls are painted a baby blue with illustrations of pretty pink flowers lining the top. The room is small for sure, but I feel like a tiny speck lying in bed. I turn my attention back to Darla.

"Why does my arm hurt a thousand times more than the rest of my body?" I say. I try to enunciate, but it comes out as a mumble.

Darla rolls her eyes. "It got bent in the wrong direction."

That would explain a lot.

I try to raise my head, but I immediately fall back onto my pillow as a splitting pain sears through my entire skull. I wait for it to stop, but it continues to rage on. "Wh—why does my head—"

"Your head got slammed into a walk and now you've got a severe concussion," Darla explains. "Mom and dad have been filling out paperwork and talking to the doctor. I got stuck with babysitting you."

I make a whining noise. "But you're so annoyinggg."

"You're so dramatic." She rolls her eyes again and then squints at me. "What even happened last night? You were about to shoot the winning basket, and then you just froze. Gave that kid an opening to slam you into the wall."

I think back to the game. Only bits and pieces remain, but I have a clear memory of why I didn't take the shot. "I got distracted," I tell my sister. "By someone in the crowd."

I have no recollection of what he looks like other than the fact that he was small, dropped a book, and had the warmest brown eyes I have ever seen. A tingling feeling lingers in my stomach as I think back to his eyes. Soft and soothing.

Darla narrows her eyes at me. "Someone in the crowd?"

"A boy," I say. "A boy with a book."

"Leave it to you to almost die to something so incredibly stupid," Darla snorts.

I scoff. "Almost die?" I ask, thinking she's joking.

Much to the contrary, Darla nods seriously. "Your concussion is pretty bad. The doctors said that if Nick hadn't known how to handle the situation in the moment, you might not be here right now."

I smile. Leave it to Nick to save my life with his medical knowledge. "I need to remember to thank him the next time I see him, then," I comment.

"Too bad you were still sleeping. He was here half an hour ago," Darla says. She points to the cart on my left. "He left you that card."

I shakily reach out with my freehand to grab the card. The pain in the rest of my body is easier to ignore if I compare it to the agony my right arm and head are in. I open the card to read it, but Darla quickly snatches it out of my hand. "Hey!" I pout at her.

"You have a concussion, idiot," she makes a face at me. "You're not supposed to read or go on your phone or watch TV or do any of your stupid things. I'll read it to you." I let out a frustrated grunt but nod nonetheless. She clears her throat dramatically, and I roll my eyes. "Dear Clay, I hope you're not actually reading this because you have a fucking concussion. And I hope Darla is the one who's reading it to you because I know your parents hate when I fucking swear. Just thought you should know that the game ended after you got zonked out, so we tied. Congrats, you didn't screw up and lose it for us. Oh, and since I saved your life, I'm charging you fifty bucks."

I watch as Darla rereads the card and rereads it again before bursting out laughing. "I take back wanting to thank him. He's so stupid," I say while shaking my head, but a part of me can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.

Darla continues to giggle, wiping tears from her eyes. "Now I'm glad you got a concussion because I got to read this piece of gold."

I pretend to act hurt. "You'd wish death upon your only brother?" I ask dramatically.

She laughs even harder, and I can't help but chuckle a little, too, just at the sight of her losing it. Suddenly, the door creaks open.

"Darla? I heard laughing. Is Clay awake?" My mom asks as she enters the room. She shifts her gaze from my sister nearly falling out of her chair from laughter to the bed where I lie. I give her a weak smile, and she rushes over to me. "Oh, Clay, you're awake! You're alright!" She exclaims with obvious relief in her voice. She hesitates, looking like she wants to hug me but knowing she shouldn't. I reach out with my left arm to take her hand, ignoring the slight throbbing it sends up my shoulder and towards my head. My mom smiles gratefully, taking it in her own and kissing it softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like death," I reply truthfully. My mom casts a worried look towards me. "Does this mean I don't have to go to school?" I grin at her. 

She rolls her eyes at me. "So now that I know you're fine enough to be your usual stupid self," she begins. "What the hell, Clay?! I would smack you across the head if I could for being so reckless!"

I stare at her, flabbergasted. "A kid tackled me! How was I being reckless?!" 

My mom places her hands on her hips. "You were just standing there staring at the hoop like someone was gonna throw the ball on for you. Like, what the hell was that, Clay?!"

"Okay, well you may be right, that was kind of stupid," I admit. "But no where in the rules of basketball does it say to slam the person with the ball into a wall and nearly kill them."

"Fine, you get a pass on that," my mom huffs reluctantly. "But you worried us half to death! You would've died if it weren't for Nick!"

I sigh. "I know, I'm sorry, Mom." I squeeze her hand. "I'll be more careful next time."

"You better be, young man," a gruff voice says. 

I look up to see a large, older man who I assume is my doctor due to his lab coat and clipboard.

"You're probably in a lot of pain right now, so I'll keep it short so you can rest," he starts. "I'm Dr. Wilson. Last night you got a pretty serious concussion and you broke your arm in various locations. Your arm will be alright, it just needs time to heal." He peers up at my head. "Your concussion, on the over hand, is quite severe. You'll need to avoid anything that will strain your mind too much. Things such as reading, video games, TV, and physical activities are strictly prohibited. Regarding school you have two options." Dr. Wilson flips the top page of his clipboard over and begins to write something on the next. "You can either stay at home and do nothing for two weeks or go to school and do nothing for two weeks. It's up to you, son, but I'd take the ladder if I were you."

I stare at him in shock. All the external pain I feel leaves for a moment as I let the weight of the situation hit me. My arm is broken and I have a concussion. My body is in immense pain, and I can't even lift my right arm.

I can't play basketball. 

"Clay, honey? Do you need a second to decide?" I hear my mom ask.

I can't play basketball.

I can't play basketball.

I can't play basketball.

——————

I push open the doors of the school library and take a few steps inside. Inspecting the room around me, I realize that there really isn't much to see. The library is about the size of two classrooms combined with a checkout desk to the right, three extremely old and clunky computers to the left, two large tables with four chairs each in the middle, and about six bookshelves near the back wall. I notice that the smell of fresh books with a hint of cherry lingers in the air, something that I find comforting. After a few moments of taking in the lack of grandeur, I walk to the librarian's desk.

Mrs. Morris is a plump old lady with short, bushy hair and dark brown skin. She wears a Hawaiian shirt to school every day and spends most of her time in the library asleep. When I reach her, she's snoring in her office chair.

I look around, wondering silently if I should wake her up. There's no one else in the room save for a few spiders lingering in the corners. 

"Um, Mrs. Morris," I say softly.

She doesn't even stir.

"Mrs. Morris," I say a little louder this time.

Not even a twitch.

"Mrs. Morris!" I say roughly, reaching over the desk and nudging her with my left hand.

She startles awake, staring at me with wide eyes. "Oh! Pardon me, young man, we don't get many visitors around here!" She laughs. I'm surprised at how awake she is so soon. "How can I help you?" She asks.

I reach into my left pocket and place the note the doctor gave me on the desk. "I have a concussion and a broken arm," I explain, gesturing to the sling and cast my right arm rests upon. "The principal said I should spend my time here for the next two weeks since I'm not allowed to do any school work."

Mrs. Morris smiles at me. "It's so nice to have you," she pauses as she reads my name on the note. "Clay Wilson! You can take a seat anywhere. You won't be bothered much here, so maybe take this time to rest."

I give her an awkward smile and nod, walking to a chair at the table furthest from her. I take a seat and silently begin to wonder what I'll do for the next two weeks. Just sit and think? The thought of doing nothing while my team is working hard drives me insane. There has to be something no for me to do. I decided to come to school instead of staying home on the off chance that I could see some of my friends. Before school I spent some time with Nick, but now I sit a lonely man in a desolate library. All I want to do is escape this prison and return to the court.

I spend the next minutes with my head on the desk. My mind drifts to those warm eyes I saw at the basketball game. It's silly since I can't even remember his face, but a giddy little grin makes its way onto my features every time I think about him. Is it possible to be in love with someone you don't even know? I feel like I know him. That frozen moment between the two of us, it was a connection. It felt like we were the only two people that mattered. 

This is stupid. I have no idea what this boy looks like, and I've only ever met eyes with him once. There's no way I'll be able to find him again.

I sigh, hoping that I'll fall asleep soon so that I won't have to keep thinking about a boy I don't even know. I close my eyes and let my thoughts dissipate as my mind slowly shifts to a deep slumber. 

It feels like I'm only asleep for a few seconds when I'm startled awake by the sound of the library door creaking open. I look forward, sleepily rubbing my eyes. I make out the figure of a small boy. 

"Hi, Mrs. Morris," he says in a sweet voice, barely taking notice that she's passed out. As my vision finally clears and the groggy fog that surrounds my mind disappears, I finally get a good look at him. He's small and extremely thin with clothes that are most likely the smallest size but still look too big for him. His hair is a dark brown reminiscent of a warm cup of coffee. He's walking towards the back of the library, and I think he won't see me, but I must catch his eye as he's walking because he turns towards me, a quizzical look on his face.

Our eyes meet, and the whole world stops.

Soft dark eyes colliding with a jolt of green.

My head is pounding in my ears, pain spreading throughout my entire being, but I can barely care.

I found him.


	2. Fits of Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay meets the boy who has occupied his thoughts for the past days and discovers a secret area in the back of the library.

He's sitting across from me, shifting around in his seat uncomfortably. I have no idea what to say. What do I say to this beautiful boy with unbelievably gorgeous eyes? Do I tell him that I broke my arm and got a severe concussion because of how amazingly pretty his eyes are? No, that's a terrible idea. Is that my idea of flirting? I'm hopeless.

A sense of panic rises in me. What if he leaves? I don't want him to go. I just want to stare into his eyes for as long as I can. 

"So, is your arm gonna be okay?" He offers awkwardly.

I let out a breath of relief, glad that he's broken the tension. "Better than my bleeding brain," I snort. He bites his lip regretfully, and I quickly wave my left arm. "It's a joke, it's a joke. I just have a concussion."

The boy lets out a small laugh. "I guess that's better than internal bleeding," he smiles at me. "I'm George."

George. His name leaves butterflies in my stomach. "I'm Clay," I respond, holding out my good arm. He gingerly takes my hand, and my whole body erupts in giddy tingles. His hands are soft, and he shakes mine delicately, as if something bad might happen if he squeezes too tight. He lets go, much to my disappointment, and I rest my chin on my hand. "I kind of thought I would just be sitting here the rest of the day alone," I comment.

He gives a shy smile. "I thought the same," he says. It's not until now that I notice he has a light British accent, which somehow makes him even more attractive. "I've spent everyday of the school year here and not once has anyone come."

"It's your lucky day," I grin. "You're stuck with me for the next two weeks while I recover from my concussion."

"Well, then you can keep me company whilst I go through my daily leisures," he says, opening up his backpack and rifling through his things.

"How do you even spend the whole day here?" I ask. "Don't you have classes?"

He shakes his head. "I finished all of my classes when I was a Junior. I only have first period economics this year."

I stare at him with an eyebrow raised. "So you're a smart cookie, huh?"

George scoffs. "I'd hardly call myself that." He finally pulls a small black book from his backpack. 

The book gets my attention. "What's that?" 

He places his elbows on the desk and fiddles with it, flipping through the pages and turning it over. "A collection of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories and poems." He smiles. "I lost the copy I borrowed from the library, so I bought a new one for them."

I think back to the basketball game, and I see it. The same book was in his lap at the match, but it looked much more beaten up. He had stood up when I got tackled, and it fell out of his lap. "It's in the gym," I say before I can stop myself.

He tilts his head at me, looking at me cautiously. I want to kick myself. "How do you know?" He asks skeptically.

"I uh," I can feel myself blushing. "I saw it in the gym—earlier today," I lie quickly. "I was picking up my stuff that got left at the game on Friday."

George looks down, almost disappointed. "Oh." He pauses for a moment. "I—" he hesitates. "I saw you get tackled. At the game."

I blink at him. He remembers our eyes meeting, I'm sure of it. Did he feel it, too? I want to ask, want to take his hands in my own and hear him say it, say that what I was feeling was real. That absolute bliss—that overwhelming warmth that filled me up and threatened to overflow. 

I'm not sure what to say, but it doesn't matter because he continues to speak. "It looked—" he closes his eyes, dropping the book onto the table and clenching his fists. "So, so horrid." 

"It felt—" I say with a slight hesitation. I think back to the incident. All I remember is the warmth I felt staring into George's eyes being overrun by an overwhelming aching in my body. But as soon as the pain had arrived, it was gone, replaced by an all consuming dizziness that made it hard to do anything. Before I knew it, I unconscious. "It felt like a dream," I finally tell him. "First there was pain, and then it was like I was floating in a cloud. I barely remember anything after getting tackled, and I don't even know what it looked like."

George squeezes his eyes shut. "You tried to stop yourself from slamming into the wall with your arm, but instead it snapped like a twig. If you hadn't done that, though, you probably would have cracked your skull open." George looks shaken just thinking about it. "The guy who tackled you, he really went for it."

"Who—" I try to say, but I'm suddenly struck by a splitting pain in my head. My body instinctively attempts to lift my right arm towards my temple, but that fails miserably as my arm is quickly subjected to a relentless agony. I groan, my left hand struggling to decide if I should clench my aching head or my burning arm. I think the pain is unbearable, but then George lightly places his hand on my left wrist, and I feel like everything will be okay. I look up at him, trying to hide the desperation in my eyes. However, the evident worry on his face tells me he can see it. How in pain I am. How much I want to curl up in a tiny ball and just cry. 

"Are you okay, Clay?" He asks, brows furrowed into a line of panic. "Should I take you to the nurse?"

I quickly shake my head. "No, no I'm fine, really." He gently rubs his thumb against my wrist, and I breathe shakily, doing my best to hide how flustered he's making me. "The doctor told me I might have some, um, episodes like this." I explain.

George nods sympathetically. Both of us look down at his hand caressing my wrist slowly. I glance up at him and watch as blush creeps up onto his cheeks. He hesitantly pulls his hand away, much to my displeasure. George twiddles his thumbs nervously, looking increasingly shy. My heart melts, and I smile with bubbly affection. How is it possible to feel such emotion for someone I've barely met? Suddenly, I grow anxious. What if he wants to leave now? What if I've made it awkward?

In a blind panic I blurt out, "So is there anything to do here besides read?"

George looks surprised for a moment, but he giggles. "I mean, we're in a library. Most activities here involve reading."

"Do you just sit here all day and read?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "What's the point of that?"

George shrugs with a small smile. "It's a nice way to pass time. I can't just go home because I have to drive my sister, but I don't mind if I get to stay here."

"These chairs are kind of uncomfortable, though," I note, shifting around in my own. They're the cheap plastic blue kind that have three hole in the center of the back and crack easily. "I don't think I'll be able to sit in these for the next two weeks."

George glances towards Mrs. Morris snoring at her desk. "Well, I don't actually use these chairs when I'm here."

A sneaky smile tugs at my cheeks. "Do you have some kind of secret hiding spot, George?"

"Maybe," he blushes, looking embarrassed.

"I thought library kids like you were supposed to follow all the rules," I tease.

He reaches across the table and lightly shoves my good shoulder, and I laugh. "Don't act like a stereotypical charming idiot and I won't act like a stereotypical nerd and show you a comfier area to sit."

I grin at him. Charming. He thinks I'm charming. "Alright, fine," I shrug. "I suppose you could be the school bad boy. I hardly know you, after all." 

George beams at me. I feel light in the head, and it's not from the concussion. He's absolutely adorable. 

George stands up and takes my hand in his own, helping me to my feet. I offer a grateful smile as he leads me towards the back shelves of the library. "Do you, like, live as a hobbit and squish in between all these books."

"No," he rolls his eyes. "I am a man of class," he says dramatically as he begins to push the bookshelf closest to the right wall inwards so that it opens like a door. 

The two of us squeeze around the corner, and I'm amazed to find that hidden behind the supposed back wall of bookshelves is a thin cranny with a few broken book carts and a few pillows in the corner. George throws his backpack on top of one of the carts and plops down among the pillows. I place my good hand on my hip and look around, admiring the cobwebs and dust that line the ceiling. "Nice place you got here," I comment. I point at the cushions below him. "How'd you get those back here?"

"It's a secret. I'm a bad boy, remember?" He winks at me. 

It's incredibly difficult to imagine him as a rule breaker when he wears such a pure smile on his face. I laugh a little, looking down at the ground. "Sure, sure, you seem like a real delinquent." When I look back up at him, he's beaming brightly, and it takes every restraint in my body to keep myself from smothering him in a hug. I walk over so that I'm towering over him. "Scooch over," I smile.

George shifts slightly to the side so that his arm presses against the back of the bookshelf. I plop down next to him, barely fitting. I wince when I hit the ground, immediately regretting sitting down so nonchalantly due to the pain that shoots through my body. I soon forgot about the aching that permeates throughout my muscles, though, when I notice that our arms are pushed together. We're close, extremely close. I breathe in and realize that his scent is an enhanced version of the smell of the library. He smells of sweet cherry candy and freshly printed pages of books. It fills my nose, and I sigh with ecstasy. My body trembles with chills. I just want to continue inhaling his scent. It comforts me—makes me feel okay.

George lightly places a hand on my bad shoulder, and I feel my pulse pick up. "You should be more careful when you sit down," he scolds me. "You have a concussion, remember?"

I shrug like it's no big deal when in fact my head feels as though it's on the verge of exploding. "You seem like the more fragile one out of the two of us." I smirk at him.

George rolls his eyes as I chuckle. "I am the average height, for your information."

I roll my eyes. "Uh huh," I nod, completely unconvinced. "It's not like you're a whole head sorter than me."

"You're just a giant," he huffs in response. "Besides, you've barely gotten a good view of what I look like."

"Well, stand up," I say, my dangerously impulsive confidence taking over. "And I'll check you out." I raise my eyebrows suggestively at him. 

George scoffs as a light blush tints his cheeks. My heart flutters at the sight. I did that. I made him blush. He turns his head away from me, trying to conceal the redness that slowly spreads on his face. "No way, you seem like a creep." He says resentfully. I laugh, my body erupting in a fit of giggles. I lean against him, wheezing profusely. George shakes his head, trying but failing to hide his own laughter. "You laugh like a tea kettle."

This comments just sends me off even more. The two of us sit together, dying of laughter. Without realizing, George leans his head on my shoulder as we clench our stomachs and gasp for breaths of air. I smile brightly, feeling so incredibly happy I might burst. It's the type of happiness that comes with a childhood memory, like the sweet smell of the sea on a summer day or the feeling of powdery snow between frozen toes. It's a feeling so pure it sends chills up my spine. I'm having one of those moments, those moments I wish will never end. I want to feel this joy forever—want to bask in George's light for the rest of time.

Maybe these two weeks won't be as bad as I thought they would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I’m having a really fun time writing this story. As always you can find me on Twitter @Katalic4.


	3. Silver Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay confesses his affections of George to Nick, and in doing so, takes a trip down memory lane.

"Our team has been fucking pathetic without you," Nick complains. He turns to me, pausing a moment before adding sympathetically, "I can't imagine that the library is any fun, though."

Oh, how wrong he is. The entire day was some of the purest bliss I have ever felt in my entire life. George spent the day reading me poems, getting to know me, and helping me through my agonizing headaches. It's amazing how with a single touch, he can take all the pain away. His fingers are like feathers that tickle my skin ever so delicately. Maybe he's a dove or an angel, here to lift me off my feet so that I can walk again.

It's 3:00 PM. School has just ended, and kids are flooding out of the main entrance. Nick and I sit on a wall close enough to the doors of the school to people watch but far enough away that no one tries to talk to us.

"It wasn't too awful," I say carefully as I gaze at the people rushing past. My eyes scan the crowd, watching for a certain brown haired figure. And like magic, there he is, heading out of school with his nose down in his book. He glances up every few seconds to make sure he doesn't crash into anyone, and during one he spots me on the wall. I watch his face light up as he waves to me happily. I sigh dreamily, resting my left elbow on my knee and leaning my tilted head against my hand as I wave back. I watch as George looks back down at his book, his face covered in a giddy grin. I feel like I'm floating, but suddenly, Nick elbows me in the side, and I fall off my little cloud of heaven.

"What the heck?" I whine at him.

"Dude, who's that guy you're staring at?" Nick continues to jab me in the ribs, pointing at George. "Your eyes are actually in the shape of hearts."

I slap his hand down, and he pouts at me. "Don't point at him like that!" I hiss. "He's gonna see!"

Nick stares at me, a sly smile slowly growing on his face. "Ohohoho," he chuckles. "You really like this guy~"

I bite my lip. "No it's not—it's not like that." I insist.

"Right, right," Nick nods, smirking at me. "But you wish it was."

I let out a frustrated grunt. "Okay, even if I liked him like that, there's no way I'm his type," I huff, sounding much more devastated than I intend to come across as.

"Aww, Clay has a crush!" Nick coos. I watch his eyes trail George walking to his car. "So how'd you meet? What's he like?"

I scoff. "What are we? A pair of ten year old girls?" I barely understand why I'm acting so resentful. My whole being aches to tell someone about the butterflies George is forcing me to endure. Luckily, Nick can tell.

"If I said we were, would you spill some details?" He inquires eagerly.

I laugh, shaking my head. "You're such an idiot." Nick grins at me. "His name is George," I tell him as I watch the brunette in question greet his sister at his car. It's a clunky old mini van with a cracked back window and sliding doors that look like they're about to fall off. His sister looks tremendously embarrassed, but George pays no mind. I look down, trying to hide my smile. "He's a bookworm I hung out with in the library today."

"The library?" Nick asks incredulously. "No one goes there."

"He does everyday," I say, a giggle sneaking up my throat. "He's a genius. He's a senior, just like us, but he finished his classes last year. He spends his whole day reading poetry in the library."

Nick blinks at me, eyebrows raised. "Man," he shakes his head. "I never would have guessed your type."

I laugh softly. "I wouldn't have guessed it either," I admit. I sigh, staring up at the silky white clouds that dance over our heads. "George is just—he's perfect."

Nick whistles shrilly, swinging his legs back and forth against the wall. "In the thirteen years I've know you, I have never seen you this in love."

"What?" I laugh, trilling my lips. My stomach is doing somersaults. "I'm not—I can't call it 'love.' I just met him today."

"Ever heard of love at first sight, Pal?" Nick offers.

I shake my head immediately. "Not a real thing."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "So when did you start liking him?"

My mind immediately flashes back to the basketball game and George's gorgeous, soft, chocolate colored eyes. I groan profusely. "Goddamnit, Nick."

He grins back cheekily at me. "Listen, man. I am like, the love expert. I can help you get this guy."

I roll my eyes and grunt. "You've only dated two girls.

"Exactly, and you've only dated one, so I have more experience," Nick says proudly. "You're still a baby when it comes to dating." He pats my hair sympathetically. "It's okay, I'll train you so that you can charm this George guy."

I decide to entertain his massive confidence in a fit of curious boredom. "What do you propose I do, then, oh wise one?" I snort.

Nick places his hand on his chin thoughtfully. I'm surprised to find that he is seriously trying to help me and not just take this opportunity to tease me relentlessly. "Does he have a phone?" He asks after a few seconds.

I shake my head. I watch the clouds pass by in small puffs that leave a small smile on my lips. I silently wonder if George is driving home, gazing up at the same white fluffs that I am. "He told me that his parents could only afford one for him and his sister, and since he doesn't have much of a need for one, he just let his

sister have it," I explain absentmindedly. "A genius and a saint," Nick notes, obviously impressed. "How do these types of people always find you?" I shake my head, holding up a finger. "Don't even go there."

Nick shrugs innocently. "I'm just saying that he doesn't sound so different from—"

I shut him down with a fierce glare. "You don't know him," I say forcefully.

Nick stares at me. "Neither do you," he scoffs, exasperated. "I'm just saying that you attract a certain type, Clay. So you should be careful."

"Yeah?" I laugh, old wounds and new rage writhing angrily inside of me. "Well, you said it yourself. I didn't even like her the way I love George."

"No, you didn't," Nick nods at me seriously. "But you cared about her. A lot."

I purse my lips, refusing to meet his eyes, which I know are peering at me firmly with a soft and pitied gaze. "Maybe I did," I spit out resentfully. "But that's over, right? And this perfectly amazing boy is here now, and I'm gonna be spending the next two weeks with him. So just—" I clench my fists tightly and slowly release them, allowing my anger to subside. "Just tell me what I need to do to keep him from going away." I ask with a cracking, strained voice. I clamp my hand over my eyes in an attempt to conceal my ever growing regret. Dragging my clammy hand down my face and groaning, I hang my head down in shame, but I'm immediately comforted by Nick rubbing my back soothingly.

"Hey, man, you're gonna be okay," he assures me. I glance at him with an unconvinced glint in my eyes. Nick nods at me, understanding completely. "I know you're scared. But you're right. I don't know George. I'm sure he's amazing, and since you're amazing, too, he'll stick around."

I smile weakly, staring down at the ground that my feet hover inches over. "Okay," I breathe out.

"Great!" Nick grins, slapping me on the back. I wince slightly, but he barely notices as he jumps off the wall and stands in front of me. "Let's go get some slurpees. That always cheers me up."

Nick offers me his hand, and I gladly take it, hopping onto my feet. The two of us begin to walk, and I tell myself that I feel okay. But there's a pit growing in the bottom of my stomach that's making it harder to breathe, and I'm unable to stop my memories as they all flood back.

——————

_A brown haired girl sits quietly in the midst of the endless empty bleachers as we practice. Her cheeks are dotted with light freckles that contrast her pale complexion. She's staring down at her lap and drawing something on the spine of her notebook. I watch her from where I'm standing on the edge of the court. Our team is in two lines running through drills. She glances up, meeting my eyes for a second. As soon as we make eye contact, she hurriedly buries her face back into her notebook, her face red. I tilt my head at her quizzically. However, my vision is soon clouded by a basketball being smacked into my face. I stumble back, grabbing my nose and wincing._

_"Oh, sorry dude," Nick, who's standing across from me apologizes. "I kind of thought that if I threw the ball at your face it would snap you out of space." He walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. "What are you staring at, anyways?" He asks, glancing up at the bleachers._

_I don't respond, still attempting to recover from being nailed right in the nose. It barely matters since Nick spots the girl, shrieks, and pulls me off the court away from our team. "Why were you staring at Dave's sister?!" He hisses into my ear, glancing at the jock in question._

_I shrug. "Is that who she is?"  
_

_Nick gawks at me, absolutely mortified._ _"Uh, yeah. And you know how crazy protective that man is of his family, and he hates you!"_

_"I could really care less," I laugh curtly. I'm honestly amused by how freaked out Nick is about me making temporary eye contact with Dave's sister. Dave and I are both point guards, yet I'm normally favored by the coaches. He's about even with me in terms of technique, but I narrowly beat him out when it comes to speed and quick thinking. I know he resents me—despises me—because of how competitive he is. Even though I'm extremely aggressive when it comes to basketball, as well, I don't pay much mind to Dave. My life revolves around the games, not the players._

_I'm distracted by my thoughts as Nick starts shaking my arm. "She's coming over!" He whisper shrieks._

_I roll my eyes, chuckling slightly. "Don't be so dramatic." I glance over my shoulder to see her approaching. She's a lot smaller standing up, barely reaching five feet tall.  
_

_"Hi," she greets when she reaches the back of the gym where Nick and I are standing. I watch her hands glide into her pockets as she anxiously bounces between her back heels and toes. "I, um, I guess I didn't really think this through," she laughs nervously._

_I raise an eyebrow. "_ _Can I help you?" She looks incredibly embarrassed, her already rosy cheeks spreading so that the redness covers her whole face._

_I think she might walk away, but Nick steps in. "I'm sorry, Clay here is just a little apprehensive when it comes to meeting pretty girls. He told me so himself a few seconds ago." He winks at her. I turn to look at Nick, completely dumbfounded._

_"What?" I choke incredulously. Nick purses his lips, gesturing towards the girl with his eyebrows._

_I groan and turn towards her._ _She's trying to look at anything but me. "I-I can go," she stammers._

_I shake my head quickly, waving my hands frantically. "Oh, no, no, it's okay. What do you need?"_

_"I, um," she mumbles, looking down. She takes a shaky breath before silently nodding to herself and looking up at me. "I don't usually do stuff like this," she admits, hands twiddling. "But when we locked eyes, I felt something, I guess?" She cringes. "As cheesy as that sounds, I think you're really cute, and I've seen you with the team, you seem like a really great guy."_

_I blink at her, mouth slightly ajar. I find myself turning back and forth between her and Nick, not sure what I should do. Nick grits his teeth at me, pointing at her with his eyes. She looks more embarrassed than I have ever seen anyone. Her face is completely scarlet, and she pulls strands of her long hair in front of her to cover her chagrin. What am I supposed to say? This random girl who locked eyes with me for a second just suddenly likes me? Who does that? I take a moment to examine her. She's small but sweet with a rounded face. Her eyes are large, like she's constantly looking for something. Her hair falls down to her breasts in neat waves. Tinted pink lips rest below her button nose. I see Dave's eyes in her own sky blue ones, shining intensely with a burst of light. She's pretty, and that's just a fact. There's no way to deny that she's attractive. I think silently for a moment. This could be good for me._

_I give her a small smile. "Do you want to grab some coffee after practice?"_

——————

Silver.

My memories are silver.

They're fond, and they're pleasant, but they aren't sweet honey in my mind, chilling tingles down my spine.

They aren't gold.

Not like he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, you can find me on Twitter @Katalic4. I’m sorry if the formatting for this chapter is weird. I usually write on Wattpad, so I’m not used to AO3’s style. :3


	4. Uneasy Whimsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Clay share a moment. Clay remembers his first date. Darla confronts Clay.

"Clay?" George mumbles softly. The two of us are relaxing among his pile of pillows, him reading aloud and me listening contently. I feel like I'm floating on a cloud.

"Hmm?" I hum in response. I'm leaning against his arm sleepily. My head drums faintly in the background of my heartbeat. The pain in my body refuses to cease, but so does the longing in my heart. In five days I'll be at the doctor to see if my brain can handle going back to classwork. In five days the doctor will tell me if I have to leave my cloud of whimsy and rapture.

I peer up at George, breathing in his cherry filled scent as I do so. He glances down at me, casting me a worried gaze. "Are you feeling alright? You've been lying on my arm all morning, and you look like you're about to fall asleep."

I smile at him drowsily. "I think it's the pain killers," I yawn. "They don't help too much, but they do make me tired."

"You can sleep," George offers kindly. "I'll just be here reading."

"Mmm, comforting," I mumble into his arm. He's warm, so, so warm. "Maybe I can just stay here forever. You're the best, Georgie."

I hear him snort, and I giggle. "My name is George, Clay."

I shake my head. "Georgie," I repeat. "Or do you like Gogy better?"

George laughs, and I grin. The sound gives me butterflies. They erupt in my stomach and flutter throughout my body, leaving soft tingles on my skin. George shakes his head. "Gogy? What even is that?"

"It's you, idiot," I say, furrowing my eyebrows so I look serious. "You are Sir Gogy III."

"What?" He breathes out in the midst of his laughter. "What happened to the first two?"

I can't even reply because I'm wheezing too hard, clutching the sleeve of his hoodie tightly. George buries his face in my hair in attempt to cover up his hysteria. I love when he does that. When he's so caught up in a moment of pure happiness that he impulsively latches onto me or leans against me. It's all these moments of bliss that have occurred in the past week that make me want to get out of bed in the morning.

As our amusement subsides, I sigh in ecstasy. "I feel like I've known you for forever," I murmur.

I can feel him smiling against my hair. He's making no motion to move away, and it causes me to overflow with happiness. "I feel like I've know you for forever," he echoes softly. He pauses for a moment, snuggling his head against my own and an involuntary giggle escapes my lips. I immediately purse my mouth shut, slightly embarrassed, but if George notices, he doesn't make it known. "This might sound pathetic," He says apprehensively. "But you're the first friend I've had in a long time."

I scoff, placing my left hand on his arm and gently rubbing my thumb against his wrist the way he did the first day I met him. I hear him inhale sharply at my touch, and my pulse quickens. "No way that's true. You're too amazing."

George laughs, but it comes out saddened and strained. "I'm the loner library loser, Clay. People don't notice me," George lifts his arm that I'm not smothering and begins to lightly stroke the side of my head. He smooths out tangled hairs that curl out and tucks them nearly behind my ear. "This past week has actually been the best week of my life," he says. His tone is happy, but it's also scared. His arm trembles slightly beneath me, and my heart aches for him. "But I've seen you in the hallways surrounded by practically everyone. I know everyone loves you, and I mean, why wouldn't they? You're amazing. So I'll understand," he breathes out, voice cracking. "If you don't want to keep hanging out with me when you have to go back to classes."

My heart drops. "George, no," I say forcefully. I take his wrist into my hand, feeling his pulse beat rapidly. "We're gonna be hanging out for the rest of time, whether you like it or not," I grin. George snorts, shaking his head into my hair. "And," I add. "You're gonna meet all my friends, and they're gonna love you."

George laughs. "Are they as stupid as you are?"

"Ding! Ding! Ding!" I chant giddily. "Most idiotic bunch I've ever come across."

"I'm sure I'll love them," George smiles. "But you should go to sleep. I shouldn't be keeping you awake like this."

I make a whining noise of indifference, wanting to savor every second I have with George, but he begins to stroke my hair, gently grazing his nails against my scalp in slow strokes. My head buzzes, the pain and pleasure I feel fighting against each other to come out on top. I give into George's touch and rest my head on his arm. My hand continues to hold his wrist, caressing it lightly.

"Go to sleep, Clay," George whispers gently. "You're safe."

I melt into the warmth of his voice and fade into a void of darkness.

——————

"Does this mean as much to you as it does to me?" A voice rings in my head. It's soft, sweet. I don't want it to go, but it fades into a slow echo.

_She's sitting across from me, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. It's awkward. It's definitely awkward. I focus on stirring my coffee in gentle little swirls. "So, uh, what's your name?" I offer._

_I glance up at her obviously embarrassed face as she bites her lip. "I didn't tell you that, did I?" She says regretfully. I shake my head. "I'm Sasha. I hope this isn't too weird."_

_I wave an arm. "Nah, I was just kind of thrown off by Nick. I think you're, uh, cute?" Icringe at how much it sounds like a question, but she barely notices._

_Sasha beams brightly at me. "Thanks," she giggles. "And you're Clay, right?"_

_I'm surprised at how quickly her demeanor has flipped after one compliment. It barely matters, though, because I find myself much more comfortable with her newly relaxed attitude. "Yeah," I nod. "I'm Clay." I glance down at her notebook, which sits quietly next to her hand. "What were you drawing earlier?"_

_Sasha instinctively places her hand atop her notebook. "Just some, um, top secret stuff."_

_I raise my eyebrow. "A secret?"_

_She nods, smiling slyly. "Too private to show someone on the first date."_

_I force out a chuckle. I'm not sure how I feel about the word "date." It leaves an uneasy feeling in my stomach, and I'm not sure why. I know it's normal for people to go on dates—to explore new possibilities. For some reason, though, I just feel so wrong. Maybe it's because I barely know her. Maybe if I get to know her better, it will all be okay._

_Maybe then I'll feel okay._

——————

I groggily open my eyes. I hate the feeling of waking up from a pill induced sleep. It's always laced with a dreary fog that clouds over everything and makes it hard to move. I glance upwards towards George. He's flipping through the pages of a thick book with one hand, head still rested atop mine. Looking down, I notice that our fingers are intertwined with each other, and it leaves a tingling sensation in my body that helps wake me up. I want to pretend I'm still asleep—want to stay in this perfect moment forever—but George must notice me stirring because he puts his book down and delicately places his hand on my left shoulder.

"Are you awake, Clay?" He nudges my arm a little.

"Mmmm, if I say no," I mumble, digging my face into his arm. "Can we stay like this?"

George laughs. A part of me knows that he's blushing up there. "You're silly. I had no idea you were so affectionate with friends."

Friends. The term makes my heart ache, and I desperately wish it will stop. I don't want to be friends. I breathe out shakily. "I'm not really with my other friends. Just with you," I murmur, voice low. I stare at our interlocked hands, rubbing my thumb against the side of his. I can hear George breathing heavily above me.

"You're just saying that," he shakes his head. I can hear the desire in his voice—the want. I feel it, too. It's heavy, filling me up and weighing me down.

"I'm not," I reply, voice sure. "You're just...different."

George's hand grows clammy, and I smile, squeezing it. "Different?" He whispers doubtfully.

"You're kind," I exhale, letting go of his hand and trailing my fingers up his arms. George shivers beneath my touch. "And warm." I rest my hand on his cheek, staring up at his vulnerably desperate expression. "And beautiful," I breathe, gazing into his soft brown eyes.

It happens. That beautiful moment where the world freezes. It's just the two of us, I know it is. I want to kiss him, seal his soft, pink lips with my own, but I can't because my right arm is unable to push myself up to reach him.

It doesn't matter.

I watch, mesmerized, as George takes my cheeks into his hands and delicately places his lips over mine. I close my eyes, breathing shakily against his mouth. He kisses me gingerly, like he's afraid of breaking something important. Lust rages within my core. I want to be rough with him—want to sit him on my lap and tug on his hair until he groans with delight. If only, if only I could use my other arm. I would be pinning him beneath me, kissing him ruggedly until his lips are puffy and raw. Even though I can't feed my aching desire, the feeling of him kissing me tenderly is enough. I sigh in ecstasy against him, moving my mouth slowly with his. This will do for now.

Suddenly, I feel him inhale sharply, and he quickly pulls away. His face is tinted red with staggering embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't—I shouldn't have done that," he stammers. "Y-you have a concussion, and your arm is broken, and I don't even know if you feel the same way—"

"I do," I cut him off, still panting heavily. "If you're feeling like," I look away bashfully. "You want to do...that again."

George stares at me, eyes wide. "You—you do?"

I laugh, shaking my head and using my left arm to push myself up so that I'm above him. "If I can be on top this time," I grin playfully.

He rolls his eyes, smiling from ear to ear. I notice that when his beam is large enough, it leaves tiny dimples in his cheeks. Absolutely adorable. I giggle softly, grabbing his cheek and lowering my lips onto his.

Perfection.

Absolute perfection.

——————

"Mom, make him stop," Darla groans, mouth full of pizza. "Clay's been giggling like an idiot ever since he got home from school."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Darla," our mom scolds her. "And besides, he's probably just feeling lightheaded from the medication."

I stick my tongue out at my sister, and she rolls her eyes. "Stop making excuses for him. He's being obnoxious about something," Darla narrows her eyes at me. "Look at him. He's gushing. I bet something happened at school."

I scoff. "What could even happen at school, Darla? I sit in the library all day. Literally no one goes there."

"Okay, then why are you acting so floaty and weird?" She demands.

I shrug. "I'm just happy, geez. It's not that big of a deal," I say, taking a large bite of my pizza.

"Seriously?!" She exclaims in an exasperated tone. She glances at my mom expectantly, but she simply puts her hands in the air as to not get involved. Darla points at me angrily. "You were moping around like a complete loser after the doctor, but everyday since we've been back to school you've been grinning from ear to ear. And now today, especially, you're acting like someone just gave you a freaking medal!" Darla cries. She squints at me. "You're hiding something."

"So what if I am?" I look down at my plate. "What's the big deal?"

When I glance back up, Darla's shaking her head angrily. "You used to tell me everything," she manages after a few moments, voice shaking. "We used to best friends. But then everything turned into basketball, basketball, basketball," Darla sniffles and guilt seeps through me. "I mean, you never even told me what happened with Sasha. Or why you stopped going to school dances," she chokes out, hurt plain in her voice. "And you're hiding something," she spits out. "You're hiding something about what happened at the basketball game. About why you got injured. No way you were just 'distracted.'" She makes disdainful air quotes.

I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Darla," I say shamefully. She refuses to look in my direction, which is understandable. "Look, I just—" I hesitate. How much do I tell her? I long to spill all my secrets to Darla and make her feel loved—make her feel trustworthy. What will she think, though?

I can't do it.

I stare down at my lap. Darla muffles a cry. "Fine," she bites out. "Be that way."

The sound of her chair grinding against the hardwood floor rips through me. I listen to her stomp to her room, the pounding on the floor leaving endless echoes in my mind. I groan, placing my head in my hand. I'm so incredibly stupid. I wish I could go back—back to the library. Back to his arms.

I feel my mom place a hand on my good shoulder. "Dear," she says softly, rubbing my arm. "Darla is right. You've become so distant. You know you can talk to us?"

I clench my fist, breathing out shakily. "I know," I nod. "I know. There are just," I sigh. "Some things that are hard to talk about."

My mom gives me a sympathetic look. "You can take your time." She assures me.

I smile weakly at her. "I don't think Darla sees it that way."

My mom laughs. "You know your sister. Stubborn as a bull. She is a Taurus after all," she points out seriously.

I roll my eyes, groaning. "That stuff's not real, Mom."

"It is!" She insists. "Have you ever met someone who's as much of a Leo as you are? I don't think so."

I shake my head, smiling. "Thanks, Mom," I say. "Even though you're stupid, I love you."

"Aw, thanks, idiot. I love you, too," she chuckles back.

I feel guiltily happy. I know I should go to my sister's room, fall to my knees, and beg for forgiveness, but I just can't do it. Disappointment runs through me, making my stomach uneasy.

George. I want George. He makes everything better.

As I wash my dirty plate and walk slowly to my room, I find myself wishing that George had selfishly kept the phone his parents bought. Why does he have to be so amazing?

Honey on my tongue.

A beat in my heart.

What am I gonna do when I have to leave? When I don't get to spend the whole day with him?

I never thought love could hurt so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave any suggestions or notes in the comments. As always, you can find me on Twitter @Katalic4. :3


	5. Strained Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George meets Clay’s friends, but Clay realizes it may not be as peachy as he imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Slight panic attack

The sun is shining rays of fluorescent heat over my head. Baby puffs of cloud skip lazily above me. The blue of the sky pours over my entire being.

I'm smiling—grinning—from ear to ear. Birds sing gentle songs softly as they pass by, whistling tunes of harmony that stick in my aching head.

"Aren't you nervous?" Nick inquires. The two of us are sitting outside of an ice cream shop, patiently awaiting the arrival of our friends. It's a Wednesday right after school, and I could not be more excited. "Everyone's gonna meet your boyfriend. Are you telling them that he's your boyfriend, by the way?"

I purse my lips. "Well, I'm not exactly sure if he is my boyfriend," I admit.

Nick rolls his eyes at me. "He kissed you. And from what you've told me, it sounds like the two of you were all over each other today."

I sigh dreamily. Today was just bliss—the purest form. Nothing had changed from our usual routine. George still read me poems and I still pretended to listen, but there was an added detail of new affectionate snuggles, loving gazes, and stolen kisses.I wanted an eternity of just that. Just George.

"Hi, Clay." A voice approaches timidly from behind me.

I grin. Speak of the devil. I spin around, beaming. He's wearing the same old gray hoodie he takes to school everyday. I stare at his lips, still slightly swollen from me kissing him earlier in the day. It leaves a wicked smirk on my features that I can't wipe away. George catches my expression and rolls his eyes, walking over to me. I smile, taking his hands for a short moment. He looks around nervously but also happily.

"Hi, Gogy," I greet with affection.

He looks down and scoffs. "You're such an idiot," he says with a small smile.

"Get a room, lovebirds!" Nick calls. He's walking into the shop. "Also, everyone else is gonna be here in like two minutes, so you better decide right now if you're a couple or not."

George and I share a blush. I let go of his hands, looking down anxiously. "So, um," I start. "My friends know that you're gonna be here, but I didn't exactly specify what our relationship is because," I look off to the side, slightly embarrassed. "I'm not exactly sure what it is."

I timidly await George's response, and I'm surprised to find that he grabs my hand once more. I glance at him to find a shy smile adorning his face. "Well," he breathes out. "Would you be okay if I called you boyfriend? Or would you prefer something else?"

I stare at him, mind spinning. "What? Really?"

George laughs, swinging my hand back and forth. "That doesn't really answer the question, Clay."

"You can call me whatever you want," I smile, stepping towards him. He peers up at me, an eyebrow raised. I bend down, kissing him softly on the lips and pulling away. George is left with a giddy grin on his face. "You can call me boyfriend, partner, buckaroo, daddy—"

George quickly places a hand over my mouth. "Okay, okay, I get the message." He nods rapidly while I let out a muffled laugh. He removes his hands, and looks down. There's something else on his mind. I tilt my head at him, and he glances back up. "I just—" he hesitates.

"What is it?" I ask, eyebrows furrowing into a line of worry.

"Can we—can we wait to tell your friends until after I meet them?" He murmurs apprehensively. "I'm sure they'll all be very understanding, I just—"

I nod knowingly. "Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable, Gogy."

As per usual, George rolls his eyes at the nickname, and I grin cheekily at him. "I've gotta figure out a nickname for you," he shakes his head.

I hum as I release his hand and begin to walk towards the door of the shop. "You can give it thought while eating ice cream," I tell him, holding open the door.

"Clay!" A familiar voice sounds.

I turn my head slightly to see my group of friends turning the corner. I beam. Everything is falling into place. George will meet my friends, they'll love him, he'll love them, we'll be a perfectly happy couple, and everything will be amazing. Everything will be amazing.

Everything will be amazing.

I watch as Zak slaps George on the back, causing him to jump. "You must be Clay's new friend George!" He shouts into his ear. George tries to give a smile, but it comes out extremely strained. "We've all heard great things!"

Darryl quickly tugs on Zak's shoulder and pulls him away from George. "Give him a little space, you muffin!" He exclaims, pushing Zak to the side and walking over to George. "I'm Darryl, and that's Zak. I promise he's not trying to overwhelm you, he's just an eccentric being."

"Oh, it's alright," George forces a small laugh. A nervous pit begins to grow in my stomach. What if they don't get along?

"Are you British, mate?" Wilbur steps forward, his own accent extremely prevalent.

George's face lights up, and I smile. "I am. I didn't know there was anyone else from the UK around here." 

"Oh, there are tons of us," Wilbur replies. "You go to our school, right? Haven't you met Tommy or Toby? Tommy is especially loud, so he's practically impossible to miss."

George looks around nervously. My four best friends, excluding Nick, are all staring at him. I can tell that he doesn't want them to know that he has no friends. The anxious desperation in his face tears me apart.

"How about," I jump in. "You all badger George after we've gotten our ice cream."

Zak, Wilbur, and Darryl shrug, walking through the door that I'm still holding open. Alex, on the other hand, lingers next to George, squinting at him curiously. I feel an overwhelming sense of discomfort watching Alex stare at him.

George shifts uncomfortably, glancing towards me. "You look so fucking familiar, man," Alex finally says after a few moments.

George nods slowly at him, carefully stepping towards me to enter the shop. "Uh, okay, that's nice."

Alex's eyes meet mine, and I give him a "what the hell?" look. He simply shrugs at me and follows George in. I groan inwardly. This is not going the way I planned.

——————

The seven of us sit at a large picnic table just outside of the ice cream shop, licking away at our frozen treats. Nick and Wilbur are chatting away, and so are Zak and Darryl. Alex, on the other hand, is sitting across from George, staring at him intensely.

George sits to my left, apprehensively eating his ice cream and attempting to avoid Alex's gaze.

"Dude," I finally blurt at Alex. "Why are you staring at him like a pervert?"

"I'm not being a perv!" Alex denies defensively. "I'm just trying to figure out where I know him from."

"Okay, well, maybe a little less staring could be involved?" I groan at him. I turn to George apologetically. "Sorry, Alex is just very—what's the word..?"

"Creepy?" Nick jumps in, turning towards us.

"Bizarre?" Wilbur offers.

I nod in agreement. "Nutty?" I add.

Alex gawks at us, pretending to be hurt."I am a very normal person!" He insists. "But I swear I know George from somewhere!"

George smiles weakly. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize you."

Alex shakes his head, taking a loud slurp of his strawberry ice cream. "Oh, it's fine, dude. It's just one of those things, you know? Now I'm gonna be wondering about it for the next few days, and it'll just randomly come to me while I'm on the toilet or something."

I scoff, leaning my left arm on the table. "You're such an old man. Maybe George just isn't the person you're thinking of," I suggest.

I watch George focus his attention on his ice cream, licking at it timidly. I sigh happily, gazing at him affectionately. He glances at me momentarily, biting back his own shy smile. Adorable.

"So, uh," Wilbur coughs. "We hear that you've been keeping Clay company in the library while he recovers from his concussion."

George blushes, and I grin mischievously. "George is great company," I nod innocently.

George shoots me a glare, which only adds to my amusement. "It's nice to have him around," he replies to Wilbur simply.

Wilbur nods awkwardly, sharing a glance with Nick. "Um,” he attempts, searching for the right words. "What crowd do you hang around?"

George taps the bench of the table nervously, shifting his eyes between Wilbur and I expectantly. I bite my lip, unsure of what to do. "Well, you know," George laughs nervously. "Just regular old people."

Wilbur gives him a strange look. Zak and Darryl bring their attention to the five of us, leaving their own cloud of whimsy. "You know any gamers? We've been looking for people to play Minecraft with us."

I immediately jump in. "George plays," I blurt out.

He does not play.

George stares at me, a large, fake smile plastered on his face. Zak's face lights up. "Oh, really? You should definitely play with us sometime!"

"Maybe," George laughs forcibly through gritted teeth. He shifts his eyes between all of us anxiously. I watch his breathing grow into a nervous pant. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead. Panic grows increasingly evident in his eyes, and I gently place my hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, George?" I ask cautiously.

George blinks rapidly back at me. "I, um," he shakes his head to sober himself, taking a sharp breath. "I'm fine. I, uh, I better go actually. I need to pick up my sister from her friend's house," he says while he hurriedly stands up and tosses his ice cream into a nearby trash can. My heart drops. I've failed. I was supposed to help him make friends, but all I did was make him uncomfortable, and now he wants to leave. George gives my friends a genuine smile. "It was lovely to meet you all. Clay really does have wonderful friends."

I feel an unbreakable chain of sadness building up inside of me as I watch him walk away. I drop my head to the table, unfazed as my ice cream falls off its cone and onto the cement below me. Wilbur slaps my back, and I startle.

"So, we gonna talk about that?" He snickers.

"What are you taking about?" I stare at him, confusion plain.

Darryl rolls his eyes. "Oh my god, don't even try to hide it, Clay," he says as him and Zak both laugh. "You totally have a crush on George. It's adorable!"

Nick grins, glancing sneakily at me. I groan and tug on my dirty blonde locks with disdain. Wilbur pokes me in the head. "Clay's gotta crush!"

"You guys are so annoying!" I whine, pouting dramatically.

Zak smirks at me and raises his eyebrows suggestively. "Didn't know you had a thing for hot nerds."

My face immediately flushes, and Darryl smacks Zak on the arm. Zak simply cackles uncontrollably as Darryl begins to scold him. "Don't be so mean, you muffin! Clay is in love!"

Love.

The word sticks to my heart, piercing it with its might. It's an aching that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I want desperately to expel the longing that permeates throughout my chest. This pain is a different kind than anything I've ever felt before. The pain in my head and arm are but a dull ache when compared to the agony I feel when I'm with George.

He's my boyfriend. It leaves flutters in my heart that refuse to cease.

But what if I've ruined it already? I made him feel awkward and uncomfortable—so much so that he had to leave. I could see the panic in his eyes—the desperation,—and all I did was make it worse.

I sigh, doing my best to avoid the eager gazes of all my friends. "He definitely won't like me after all that." I say, feeling overwhelmingly defeated.

Wilbur chuckles. "Don't be so dramatic. He for sure likes you back." I scoff at him, but he continues talking seriously. "We could all see the way the two of you looked at each other." My friends nod in agreement.

"Really?" I ask skeptically.

"Bro, just accept it. The two of you are definitely in love," Zak laughs.

Love.

The most bittersweet stain on my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’m glad you guys are enjoying this story, and sorry this chapter took a little longer to get out :3


	6. Beautiful Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay must deal with the supposed aftermath of George’s introduction to his friends and finds that George is keeping several secrets from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W!!! This chapter includes topics that imply suicidal ideation and behavior.

I apprehensively push open the library doors, paying no mind to Mrs. Morris snoozing at her desk. I allowed myself to sleep in due to an unusually agonizing headache, so it's well past first period. George should be here.

It's quiet, as per usual. The only sound that rings in my ears is the repetitive ticking of the analog clock that sits snugly on the wall above the computers. I take a nervous breath as I quickly head to the back of the room, immediately pushing back the bookshelf that reveals George's secret spot before I can change my mind.

My heart drops to my stomach.

Our perfect pile of pillows remains just that: Perfect. Untouched. No indentations mark themselves in the body of any of the pillows.

George is no where to be seen.

A horrible aching spreads throughout my body. I really messed up. My friends were able to convince me that the events that took place the day prior were not that bad, but clearly, they had been wrong.

I slowly walk over to the body of comfy pillows that sits dormant on the dusty floor. Does the loneliness kill them as much as it destroys me? I shakily lower myself to the floor, my body refusing to lie among the pillows. I don't want to be left desolate and dreary like them.

I run a hand gently over the case of one of the pillows. The linen is cool to the touch, an after product of sitting in the cold darkness of the surrounding room all night. I give a heavy sigh, breathing in deeply. My nose fills with the scent of cherry candy and freshly printed books.

_George._

I miss him desperately. Maybe he's sick. He didn't seem sick yesterday—but maybe he is. Regret and guilt floods through my veins. I just wanted him to be able to make some friends, and now I've probably made him so unhappy and embarrassed that he hates me.

No phone. The stupid lovable idiot has no phone. I feel dizzy. My head is filled with an overwhelming fuzz that threatens to consume me. Without George there's nothing to distract me from my endless pain. Tears brew in the corners of my eyes. There's no one with me, but I still feel incredibly self conscious about allowing myself to cry. I just need someone—anyone—to tell me that things will be okay.

That I'll be okay.

——————

_"Do you like bugs?" Sasha asks, running her hands through my hair._

_My head is rested on her lap as we sit in her backyard, staring up at the blue sky. I make a sour face. "Bugs are creepy. I hate how many legs they have."_

_Sasha chuckles lightly above me. "You're barely even looking for the beauty in them. Have you ever seen a caterpillar up close?"_

_"Ew, no," I retch. "They're so creepy with their fuzzy little bodies."_

_Sasha places her hand on my eyes to shield them as a cloud drifts past the sun and reveals a blinding light to us. "They're beautiful," she insists. "The process of a caterpillar's metamorphosis is amazing. Something so seemingly small and weak can harden and then blossom into something so delicately beautiful and strong."_

_I smile. Even though I can't see her, I know Sasha is grinning from ear to ear. I gingerly take her hand and move it away from my eyes, squinting from the light. "It's more wondrous that you can find beauty in such simple things," I comment._

_"Oh, please," Sasha snorts. She places my hand against her cheek, sighing softly. "My admiration of the world runs much deeper than teeny insects."_

_I enjoy our conversations. They always leave me with a new view of everything that exists around me. Sasha is intelligently thoughtful. Her examination of her surroundings is fueled by her excitement to learn and gain experience. Talking to her is always a pleasure._

_Sitting with her like this, though, I feel rigid—unstable. My hand is on her cheek, and I desperately wish to pull it away, as mean as that sounds._

_I just don't feel right with her._

——————

I scan each face as my classmates flood past me. Occasionally someone will wave hi or ask about my condition, but I barely pay any mind to them. I'm looking for someone specific.

Darla hurries past me, glancing in my direction, scoffing, and moving along. I groan inwardly. She still hasn't gotten over the other night.

It barely matters, as the girl I'm actually looking for flashes across my vision. Her face is nearly identical to George's, only slightly more feminine. Her hair cascades down her shoulder in a long braid that ends just above her hips.

"Lily!" I blurt out.

She stops, turning to glance at me. Lily furrows her eyebrows, walking over to me cautiously. "Clay Wilson," she states. “Basketball captain.”

I nod slowly. "Yeah, that's me."

Lily shakes her head. "Sorry, I just—why are you talking to me? And how do you know my name?"

"Well," I start. "I'm talking to you because I want to know where your brother is. And I know your name because he told me what it is."

Lily rolls her eyes at me and laughs. "Yeah, right. You know my brother. Hilarious joke."

"What?" I sputter out. "It's not a joke! I've been hanging out with him in the library for the past week, but he's not here today."

Lily's laughter immediately ceases. She stares at me, examining me closely. "You're his boyfriend?" She points a finger at me, mouth ajar.

Boyfriend. It leaves shivers down my spine. "Yeah," I respond. "Now, where is he?"

Lily doesn't answer. She simply squints profusely at me. After a few moments, she blinks rapidly and quickly shakes her head. "Wait—wait, you're his boyfriend?!" She nearly shouts. Lily places a hand on her head, gazing at me with one of the most shocked looks I have ever seen. "You—Mr. Clay-Basketball-Captain-MVP-most popular boy in school—You are George's boyfriend?" She asks again, completely astounded.

"I am," I laugh nervously. _At least, I hope I still am._

Lily tugs on her hair. "I can't believe this!" She exclaims. "When he told me he was dating some kid he met at the library, I assumed it was some lame nerd, not the school's golden basketball prodigy child!"

I smile. Her eccentricity is rivaled by George's. Even though it's only been a brief moment, I can tell how similar they are. "He's really something," I sigh dreamily.

"Wow, I really just can't believe—I mean you seem great, but that's the thing. You and George?" She shakes her head. "Wouldn't have guessed in a million years." Lily is smiling, but it quickly dissipates as a form of realization crosses her features. She bites her lip, looking down. "Um, about where he is," she says.

Worry grows inside me. "He's not—he's not sick, is he?" I question.

"Well, that's just it," she replies while scratching her head. "I'm not exactly sure what's wrong with him." Lily's eyes follow my twiddling fingers as I reach to tap the side of my leg anxiously. She finally looks up at me. "All I know is that he's in the hospital. Our parents won't tell me why, though."

My pulse picks up. No, no, no. George is okay. He's just angry with me for forcing my friends onto him. I think back to our encounters yesterday. He wasn't sick in any way shape or form, not even any allergies. What if he got into an accident on his way home? Or what if he was sick, and I was too stupid and neglectful to even notice?

Lily must sense the panic rising in me because she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I'll walk you through what happened, okay?" She asks slowly. I nod through my shaky breaths. "Yesterday he picked me up from my friend's house, and he was acting kind of anxious. I asked him about it, but he brushed it off like it was nothing. When we got home, our mom was waiting at the door, and she was super duper shaken and upset. She pulled George to a different room and told me to wait in mine. Fifteen minutes later she tells me that she's taking George to the hospital, and I need to wait until my dad gets home so he can pick me up and take me, too." Lily looks down, taking a deep breath. "I saw him in the hospital last night, and he was acting like everything was normal, but my mom told me that he's not gonna get discharged until later tonight."

I place my left hand on my hip, pacing around. The halls we're standing in are now empty, save for a few passerby's who glance at us briefly. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, and the pain in my head swells to a tremendous agony. Endless possibilities of what could be happening to George scurry through my mind. My thoughts travel to the worst possible places, and I feel like crumpling on the ground in a tiny ball.

"Clay?"

Lily's voice brings me back. I stare at her, panting heavily, tears staining the corners of my eyes. We lock eyes, and it tears my heart apart how much her chocolate orbs resemble George's.

"Can—can I see him?" I manage to ask between deep breaths.

Lily nods. "Yeah, of course," she purses her lips. "We need a ride, though."

"I can get us one."

——————

I sit, tapping my foot anxiously against the marble flow below me. I thought the next time I would be here would be in two days to get my injuries checked out, but I was clearly wrong. The stench of medicine and rubbing alcohol invades my nose, and I make a disgusted face.

Nick places a hand on my back. "I'm sure he's fine, dude. No need to worry."

I take a deep breath. "You're right. Lily says he seems fine," I say, trying to convince myself. I smile gratefully at Nick. "Thanks for leaving practice early to take Lily and I here."

"Of course, man," Nick nods. "It's been boring without you, anyways. We suck ass."

I give a weak laugh. "You guys can't be that bad."

Nick chuckles back. "No, seriously, we—"

"Clay?"

I look up to see Lily hovering at the door that leads to a hallway of patient rooms. Nick pushes me up out of my seat and quickly flashes me a thumbs up. I shove my left hand into my pocket, the other still snug in its sling, and follow Lily as she leads me down the hall to a room near the end. I squeeze my eyes shut and listen as she slowly pushes the door open.

"I brought him, George," Lily says softly.

Peeking around the corner through the doorway, I'm amazed at how perfectly beautiful he is even while in a hospital bed. Staring at George in his loose hospital gown, I'm left breathless. He looks okay, just extremely tired. However, his thin arms are wrapped tightly in bandages, and his face is more pale than usual.

"Clay," he croaks out weakly, his face lighting up. His voice is hoarse, cracking as he speaks.

I walk over, hesitantly taking a seat in a chair next to his bed and placing my hand over his own. "George," I breathe out. I can barely hear Lily walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. George's eyes pour into mine, but all of the glimmering life that I love so much has been sucked out of them. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my hands shaking.

George tilts his head at me. "What are you taking about?" He asks softly, trying not to strain his voice.

"I—" I begin. Tears well in my eyes. "I just wanted to help you make friends, but I messed up, and I introduced you to all of them at once, and they asked you all those questions, and I had no idea what to do, and—and—"

"Clay," George smiles at me. "Don't worry about that." He squeezes my hand weakly. "I was a little overwhelmed and anxious about meeting all of your friends at once, but," he glances down at the bandages that are wrapped tightly around his arms. "That all kind of seems like nothing now."

George reaches over with the hand that I'm not clutching desperately and swipes at the tears that stain my cheeks. I let out a grateful laugh, staring down at the ground. I'm scared to ask the question that bites at me, but I do it anyways. "Why are you here?"

I glance back up at George. He's delicately stroking my cheek, smiling dimly. There are dark circles under his eyes that indicate a sleepless night. His whole face is pale and bony. "It's nothing big," he assures me. "I'm just feeling kind of weak right now because they've been running some tests."

I shake my head sadly. "You're lying to me. There's no way you have to stay in the hospital for a whole day for something that's 'nothing big,'" I sniffle.

George lets out a feeble laugh. I pull his hand to my mouth and press a gentle kiss onto his knuckles. He sighs happily, still holding my cheek with his other hand. "I have some poor medical history, so my mom wants to be extra careful, that's all," he reiterates. I watch as George's eyes fall from my electric green orbs to my lips. He gazes at them with such longing that it burns raging desire in my core. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his lightly. Our breaths mingle as our mouths slowly meet in a soft, passionate kiss. George coos sweetly, and I giggle against his lips. The longer we kiss, the more the surrounding area disappears. We're no longer in a bright, nerve wrenching hospital, but rather, back in George's small cranny tucked in the depths of the school library. I breathe him in. Cherry candy and printed pages. I feel right. I feel okay.

"You're beautiful," I murmur into our kiss.

George hums, pulling away for a second. He's breathing heavily, his lips wet and red. "You're everything," he whispers back, leaning back in.

George runs his hands through my hair, tugging on my dirty blonde locks. His playful touches elicit a low groan from me, and he grins. I pull away, suddenly, and he pouts at me. My eyes fall from his lips to his arms. "If you're just here for tests," I breathe out. The terror in my voice sends my head spinning. "Why are your arms all wrapped up?"

"They drew blood," George says quickly. He grabs my face and tears my eyes away from his arms.

I can't help but glance back down. "They wrapped both of your arms because they drew blood?" I scoff, unconvinced.

George smiles nervously. "I'm not the doctor," he shrugs.

I frown unhappily at him. "George, you know that, whatever this is," I say, gesturing to his pale body. "I'll be here for you. You can tell me what it is."

"I know," George whispers, voice cracking. I can't tell if it's from sadness or his weakened state.

"Are you gonna tell me?" I ask softly.

George looks down, his hands falling from my face to wrap around himself in a tight hug. "I—"

He's interrupted by the door swinging open behind the two of us.

"George, the doctor's said that you're okay, but I'm going to keep a close eye on you, you hear me?" A middle-aged woman with frazzled hair hurries into the room, not looking up from a stack of papers in her hands. Once she reaches the end of George's bed, she finally glances up, her eyes falling on me. "Oh, my, so sorry for intruding," she says quickly, dropping her papers onto his bed. She hesitates before reaching her hand out to me. I gladly take it, and she furiously shakes. "I'm George's mother. And you are..?"

"I'm, uh," I stammer, eyeing George carefully.

"He's my boyfriend," George grins at his mom. "Clay."

George's mother looks surprised for a moment, but she quickly shakes it away. "Lovely to meet you," she smiles kindly at me. "I'm so sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I need to speak with George privately."

I nod quickly, standing up. George looks between his mom and me, fear evident in his eyes. "He can't stay?" He inquires meekly.

His mother raises an eyebrow. "Did you tell him?" George looks down, obviously ashamed. He says nothing. His mom purses her lips. "That's what I thought."

George breaths out shakily, and I place a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, George," I smile reassuringly. "Will I see you at school tomorrow?"

George glances at his mom, and she sighs, nodding. He smiles at me. "Yeah. See you in the library."

I grin, backing towards the door. "I'll be waiting, George."

As soon as I exit the room and close the door behind me, George's mom immediately starts shouting shrilly. Although her voice is muffled through the wall, I can still make out what she's saying. I don't want to eavesdrop, but I find myself lingering, hand lightly pressed against the door.

"We will discuss you suddenly having a boyfriend without permission later," George's mom hisses. "But I can't believe you tried to pull this shit again."

"Mom, I—" George attempts to cut in.

"No," His mom interrupts. Her voice is shaking dangerously. "Your father and I bust our arses, and this is what you try to do? Are you not happy?" Her voice cracks.

"That's not it," George says hurriedly. I can tell from his trembling tone that he's crying. "Mom, it has nothing to do with you or dad or Lily. It's—it's me. It's my own fault."

A sob is emitted from his mom's throat. Her voice lowers to a whisper, and I can no longer hear their exchanges. My mind is a flurry of emotions. Pain writhes in my head, but it becomes so agonizing that it's numbing.

What did George do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this chapter took a long time, but I was determined to get it out before the end of the month! I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for the support on this story :3

**Author's Note:**

> This is a DNF high school AU I’m writing. I hope you guys enjoy! Leave any feedback or comments. Find me on Twitter @Katalic4. You can also find this work on Wattpad under the same name :3.


End file.
